


Crossing Paths

by ShellyLass



Category: Bramwell (TV), Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8896858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyLass/pseuds/ShellyLass
Summary: London 1896.Eleanor Bramwell, engaged to marry Dr. Finn O'Neill, is still running the struggling Thrift helping the poor in the East End of London. Donations keep the doors open and a mysterious benefactor pledging to ensure The Thrift stays open forever enters Eleanor's life.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eleanorbramwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanorbramwell/gifts).



> Another AMAZING prompt from eleanorbramwell that I'm more than happy to bring to life. This fic will be a multi-chapter slow burn and rated M for later chapters. I do have to make you work for it this time readers, but I assure you it will be well worth the wait. ;)

The city was quiet, so unlike itself without the sound of carts wobbling over the cobblestones full of goods that needed to be sold. Beggars were always a low hum that mixed with the laughter of children and the mothers that scolded them. The sun hung low in the sky, nighttime only an hour or so away. During this time the pulse of life in London quieted to a soft whisper and shadows began to fall on doorways and alleyways that connected the streets.

In one such alleyway a woman’s heeled boots clicked against the stones as she made her way. Blonde curls peeked out beneath the brim of her dark blue hat, her hands light clasping an umbrella through London had not seen rain in many days. Time seemed to fold in around her as she moved, as if this woman alone was the source of silence that blanketed the city. As she passed the hum of the city faded, but once she turned the corner the sounds grew again. She made a left, then a right continuing to weave her way through the labyrinth of alleys in the direction of Fleet Street.

In the light of day, Fleet Street bustled with men of all sorts haucking their wares loudly and paper boys shouting the latest headlines. Women escorted by men on their way to the gardens and servants shopping for the homes the served. Now, though the street was emptying. London was settling down for the evening that loomed closer and closer with each passing minute. The hauckers had packed up their wares to start anew tomorrow, no woman of a reputable sort would be out at this time unescorted, and servants had long since started cooking dinner.

The blonde emerged from a side street and stood in the shadows for a moment longer, watching the people around her. She could see the stands had been deserted and the women of the night beginning to emerge from all streets. She could hear the distant sounds of a pub nearby and a small smile settled on her full lips. She stepped into the light of the setting sun. The spell of silence seemed to break as she melted into the less honorable crowd of London.

“Daily Courant! Gazette!” a nearby newsboy called into the evening air.

The small blonde boy eyed her as she approached. She met his gaze, he couldn’t be more than nine or so, his freckled face smudged with dirt.

“Paper, miss?” the boy offered as she came within earshot.

“Why, yes,” the blonde replied, her British accent curling through her lips cheerfully as she handed him a handful of shillings.

The boy grinned, accepting the money and handing the woman a thick newspaper before saying “Oy,” as he counted the money.

The blonde smiled, “Give your employer his share, the rest is for you.”

“Thanks, miss,” the boy murmured before running off down the street and into the nearest press office.

The woman folded the paper and tucked it under one arm and continued down Fleet Street towards Temple Bar. Passersby snuck looks at the woman roaming the streets of London alone with night so very close. Men eyed her in the most ungentlemanly way, their minds turning with evil thoughts. Women of the night scoffed, jealousy heating their blood. A most peculiar sight for a woman to be seen without her arm safely tucked into the crook of a man’s elbow, let alone this late in the evening.

She paid them no mind, not a flicker of emotion in her blue-green eyes as she meandered down the street before disappearing around the next corner.

XXXX

Sometime later, in an estate in Clapham the woman sat by a roaring fire. Her hat and coat hung by the door and her blonde curls now flowed freely down her back, released from the pins that held her hair in place. Her feet were tucked beneath her in the chair, her navy dress billowing over the sides of the armchair where she nursed a glass of red wine.

The paper lay open on her lap, a long finger tracing the photograph accompanying the article entitled “Free Infirmary on Thrift Street Seeking Donations.” She’d perused the article with mild intrigue as she’d read the paper from start to finish as she always did. It was the contents of the article that drew her to the photograph. She’d assumed some young doctor was trying to strike out on his own, but this usually failed early on. A small breath had escaped her lips when she’d read “Doctor Eleanor Bramwell,” astounded at the woman’s drive. Her blue eyes had swept to the photo and found a young brunette woman, dressed in a flowing skirt with her hands behind her back. Her smile was bright and hopeful as she stood beside her benefactor, Lady Peters, outside The Thrift.

The blonde raised her eyes from the grainy photograph and drained her wine glass. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before setting the glass aside and gazing into the fire.

“Eleanor,” the woman murmured, the name left her lips with a curious lilt.

XXXX

The sun shone brightly as Eleanor readied herself for the day ahead. Her life had taken a much better turn since the opening of The Thrift. Before she merely watched negligent surgeries performed by Sir Herbert, her ideas and opinions seen as a mockery. She wasn’t forced to work within her father’s private practice nursing swollen ankles and the like. Now, she was performing surgeries when necessary and legitimately treating the unwell just as she’d always wanted.

“Need any help miss Eleanor?” Kate questioned from the doorway, knocking softly.

Eleanor smiled meeting the girl’s eyes, she adored Kate. “No thank you, Kate.”

She heard Kate retreat down the hallway and turned back to the mirror. Her chestnut curls still hung loose down her shoulders in soft waves. Eleanor ran a brush through her hair before beginning to pin her hair up in the loose bun she preferred.

She hurried downstairs for breakfast, kissed her father and made her way to The Thrift.

Eleanor stepped inside to the hustle and bustle she’d grown accustomed to. She looked around, two patients so far and it was only just half noon. The brunette hurried into the consultation room and donned her apron.

“Nurse Carr, what have we today?” Eleanor questioned, doctor voice firmly in place.

Nurse Carr nodded, “Doctor Bramwell, meet Mr. Richards. Seems he’s taken a nasty fall and is experiencing quite a lot of pain.”

Nurse Carr gestured to the man in the bed nearest them, a young man in his mid-thirties. He was holding his left arm and wincing horribly.

“Afternoon doctor,” Mr. Richards greeted, nodding his head at her.

Eleanor smiled, “And you, Mr. Richards. Do tell me what happened,” moving to inspect the man’s shoulder.

Mr. Richards spoke through gritted teeth, “I’m a bricklayer by trade, doctor. Took a fall off the scaffolding right onto my bleedin’ shoulder and here I am.”

Eleanor murmured her understanding, her long-fingered hands feeling the man’s shoulder. She could feel that the man’s arm bone had slipped forward out of the joint.

Eleanor stepped back from the man, “Mr. Richards, you’ve dislocated your arm so it will need to be put back in place.”

“Alright then, doctor, get on with it,” Mr. Richards murmured, his eyes wide.

“I’ll need you to remove your shirt,” Eleanor stated before turning to Mr. Bentley, “Mr. Bentley, if you’ll help him out of his shirt please.”

Mr. Bentley nodded and set about helping Mr. Richards disrobe. Eleanor moved to the next bed where Nurse Carr stood waiting.

“Mr. Jackson, complaining of acute abdominal pain. No medications or treatments have been administered thus far, doctor,” Nurse Carr reported.

Eleanor frowned, “Mr. Jackson, how long has this been going on for?”

The young blonde man looked up at her, his blue eyes kind. “About two weeks, doctor. I thought maybe twas just a pulled muscle at first. I’m a laborer out on the docks, happens to us all the time.”

The young doctor nodded, “Mr. Jackson, would it be alright if I examined you?”

Mr. Jackson nodded in response.

“Right then, lie down on your back for me,” Eleanor instructed.

The man acquiesced and Eleanor moved to his right side and slid her hands beneath his shirt. She pressed, questing Mr. Jackson regarding the pain.

Her hands pressed beneath the man’s navel and he gasped out in pain. Eleanor apologized and moved her hands to the right, pressing again.

“Pain there, Mr. Jackson?” she questioned.

“No, doctor. More like a dull ache,” the man responded.

Eleanor nodded and straightened back up, turning to Nurse Carr.

“Nurse, if you would please see about Mr. Jackson’s temperature and send Mr. Bentley for Doctor Marshum,” Eleanor ordered politely.

“Right away, doctor,” Ethel responded.

Eleanor turned back to the patient, “Mr. Jackson, it is a bit early to say, but given your symptoms it looks as though you’re experiencing the early stages of appendicitis.”

“What does that mean?” Mr. Jackson questioned.

Eleanor sighed, “It means that your appendix is likely going to need to be removed before it bursts, but considering your symptoms have only been present for a week there’s no hurry. I’d like you to stay here though, we’ll get your surgery completed at the earliest opportunity.”

Mr. Jackson smiled, “Thank you kindly, Doctor Bramwell.”

Eleanor smiled, “You’re quite welcome.”

“Doctor Bramwell, Mr. Richards is ready for you now,” Mr. Bentley called across the room.

Eleanor made her way back to the previous bed, Mr. Richards sat on the edge of the bed his shirt lying beside him. Eleanor could see slight bruising around the man’s shoulder and the dislodged bone.

“Alright Mr. Bentley, if you’ll so kindly hold Mr. Richards in place we’ll get this shoulder sorted,” Eleanor mused, placing her hands on Mr. Richards’ shoulder.

Mr. Bentley grasped the man by his other shoulder and nodded at Eleanor.

Eleanor looked down at Mr. Richards, “Ready, sir?”

Mr. Richards nodded, his eyes closed.

Eleanor pushed the bone up and back into socket, a loud pop sounding in the infirmary. Mr. Richards let loose a string of expletives and lay back on the bed.

“How does that feel, Mr. Richards? Any pain?” Eleanor questioned, her hands laced together loosely at her pelvis.

Mr. Richards sat back up, rotating his shoulder and bending his elbow. “No, Doctor, it feels much better.”

Eleanor smiled, “Glad to hear it, feel free to rest up a bit if you’d like, Mr. Richards.”

XXXX

Eleanor had worked tirelessly over the last few hours, she’d removed Mr. Jackson’s appendix with the assistance of Doctor Marshum. The man was resting comfortably. Lady Peters had arrived while Eleanor worked a bright smile on the older woman’s lips as she disappeared into the consultation room.

Eleanor stood at the washing bin, cleaning her hands before moving on to her next task. With her back to the door she scrubbed beneath her nails. The door opened and shut, heels clicking against the floor.

“Hello, miss, can we help you?” Mr. Bentley questioned the woman with a smile.

Eleanor heard a voice say, “Why, yes. I’m here to see Lady Peters if she’s in.”

Mr. Bentley extended his arm, motioning the woman inside. “This way, please.”

Eleanor turned from the washing bin, her hands perfectly clean. She moved to greet the visitor but stopped dead in her tracks. Mr. Bentley had opened the door to the consultation room and Lady Peters had gestured the woman inside.

The woman was blonde and she carried an umbrella beneath one arm. Her dress was a dark red, offsetting her pale skin wonderfully. She carried herself confidently, back straight and chin set rigidly in place.

Eleanor watched as the woman disappeared into the room, Mr. Bentley moved to close the door and return to the ward down the hall. Before the door shut, Eleanor caught the bluest eyes she’d ever seen matched with a small smile.

Eleanor wondered for some time who the woman was, but thought it best to leave it be. She had patients to attend to and the mystery woman did not look to need medical care. Quite some time passed, Eleanor hard at work tending to the seemingly never-ending flow of patients. Her loose bun only got looser as she worked, brown tendrils falling to frame her face. Eleanor swept them away with her hands, but they would soon slip free.

“Eleanor, have you a moment?” she heard Lady Peters call from the consultation room.

Eleanor perked up, turning from her list of supplies she’d steadily been adding to throughout the day.

“Of course, I’ll just be a moment,” Eleanor replied smiling.

A few moments later, Eleanor entered the consultation room. Sat in one of the armchairs near the desk was the blonde woman, Lady Peters stood near the window peering down onto Thrift Street.

“Ah, Eleanor. It would seem that the article placed into the newspaper has brought us a potential benefactor,” Lady Peters explained, gesturing to the woman.

Eleanor smiled widely, turning to the woman.

The blonde eyed her from her seat, small smile still in place. Eleanor felt uncomfortable under her gaze as though the woman was inspecting her. Shaking the thought off Eleanor introduced herself as a lady should.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Doctor Eleanor Bramwell, and you are?” Eleanor said, her voice light and cheerful.

The woman stood, she was eye level with Eleanor and she smiled fully. Extending a hand, she spoke in a low voice “Doctor Helen Magnus and Eleanor the pleasure is all mine.”

Eleanor grasped her hand in greeting, feeling the woman’s hot skin against hers.


End file.
